Authors: Margaret Tanner
Without the slightest hesitation the child lifted up her arms. Once settled on the ample lap, she pulled at the dangling pendant type earrings.
“You like pretty things? Here, get your mama to keep this for you.” Glory slipped a large ruby ring off her finger and gave it to the child.
“Lucy couldn't accept anything so valuable,” Fiona protested.
“Of course she can, I've got plenty of others. If you're thinking it's a present from a rich client then don't, my husband gave me this ring. It's a family heirloom.”
“But Glory...”
“I have no family to pass it on to. I want her to have it. For the first time in years, I've been treated like a guest in someone's home. Harlots like me don't get invited to tea very often.” It was a flat statement of fact and Jo could think of nothing else to say.
Over dinner of pumpkin soup followed by Irish stew, Glory kept them entertained with stories of her travels overseas. Now and again when the vulgarity slipped, Jo caught a glimpse of the woman she must have been before fate steered her on this particular course.
Glory's dry wit, peppered with numerous swear words kept Jo laughing uproariously. She insisted on helping them with the dishes even though it was unlikely she had done such a chore in years.
By the time Glory left, with an invitation to come again, it was dark. As Jo waved her off she felt more cheerful than she had in a long time.
Back inside the homestead, even Fiona agreed their guest had been entertaining. “Pity she's so vulgar.” She bit her lip. “Seems quite nice and Lucy liked her.”
“You know,” Jo mused. “Half that vulgarity is an act. I think she's a lonely person who covers the fact up so no one will guess. I like her and she'd be a loyal friend if we needed one.”
“I like her, too, but if we associate with her, well, I mean some of her reputation might cling to us too.”
“Don't be such a snob. What do you think the pious ladies of the town think of me? I'll tell you, a rich man's whore, with a bastard son.”
The color faded from Fiona's face, leaving it ashen. “What a frightful thing to say.”
“Well it's true, isn't it? I don't care so much for myself, but little Mark.” Tears stung Jo’s eyes.
“I'm sorry. Later on, Luke will acknowledge him. He said so.”
Jo jumped to her feet. “When?”
Fiona bit her lip. “The day of Mark’s birth.”
“What did he say? Tell me his words exactly.”
“I…I can't remember, let's forget about it.” She twiddled a button on her gown.
“No, tell me.”
“He said, well he said...”
Jo stamped her foot. “Come on. What?”
“When the baby got old enough, he would claim him,” Fiona muttered. “Something like that, said if anything happened to his son, he'd hold us responsible.”
Jo wrung her hands. “Why didn't you tell me this before?”
“I didn't want to upset you, honestly. He meant every word of it.”
“Luke never wastes words. What he says he means, but I won't let him take Mark away, I won't! I'll kill anyone who tries to take my baby.”
“Jo!”
She ignored Fiona's shocked cry and rushed off to bed.
***
Several weeks passed with still no sign of Luke, so Jo started to relax. She enjoyed her baby son, who ate and slept contentedly. One Monday in September, as the late flowering wattle cast its yellow mantle about the bush, Glory visited them again.
She was in a hurry and wouldn’t stay. “I came to see if you'd like a job, Jo, as a bookkeeper. You're a school teacher, so I figure you must be good at sums.”
The proposition tempted her, as jobs like this for women didn't come along too often. “I'd like to, we could do with the money, but there's Mark.”
“Bring him along with you.”
“What employer would put up with that?”
“Me.”
Jo hoped her mouth didn’t gape open. “You mean, you mean the job is with you?”
Glory laughed. “Yes, I wouldn't be hiring people for anyone else now, would I?”
“You mean, I'd have to work in your, well, er, establishment?”
“Yes. I don't mean for you to mix with the clients, though. Saturday night's my busiest time. I handle a lot of money and need someone I can trust. I've worked it all out. I can set aside a room for you and Mark, you can come Saturday afternoon, then stay the night. What do you say?”
Fiona frantically waved her arms behind Glory's back for Jo to refuse the offer, but she ignored it.
“I say yes, thank you. I'll give it a try. We could do with the money. If Luke didn’t send food over, we'd be starving.”
It rankled that they needed to accept his charity. Had he come over or showed some interest in the son who bore such a likeness to him, it would have been different. A hated little voice whispered from deep within, some interest in me also.
“When do you want me to start?” Jo asked.
“This Saturday coming.”
“So soon?”
“I need someone straight away. I wanted to give you first offer.”
“I appreciate that, tell me where to come and I'll be there in the afternoon.”
After Glory departed, leaving a clinging aura of perfume wafting behind her, Fiona pleaded with Jo not to take the job.
“Think of it, working in a brothel and taking a baby there. It's too dreadful for words.”
Sometimes she wanted to smack her sister-in-law. “Listen to me! We need the money! Anytime now, Luke might decide to cut our supplies, then where will we be? I have to take Mark so I can feed him.”
They argued on and off all evening, with Jo becoming more and more determined to give it a try. For the first time since they had known each other, they went to bed without speaking.
***
The baby woke up early to be fed. With his hunger appeased, Jo set about getting breakfast ready. The fire, which they banked up the previous evening, glowed red. It took only a matter of minutes to stoke it up with fresh logs. Breakfast in bed would be her way of apologizing for last night's outburst, not that her resolve had altered. I'm taking the job because I have to.
Boiled eggs, toast and tea. She found a tray, spread out a napkin, laid everything out neatly and took it into Fiona's bedroom. Asleep, she appeared even more vulnerable and helpless than usual, from the way her cheeks were stained she had been crying.
“Fiona.”
“Jo?”
“I've brought you breakfast.” She put the tray on the dresser and sat down on the bed. Grasping one of Fiona's hands she inspected the nails as if they were the most important things in the world. “I'm sorry for acting so beastly last night, but we need the money.”
“I know. I acted silly, too, but I didn't want you to make things worse for us.”
“They won't blame you as a respectable widow with a little girl. I hate to think what they say about me. Later on if we can get some money behind us, we could sell up, start afresh somewhere else where we aren't known. America even, I’ve still got relations over there.”
For herself, she loathed the idea of running away, but for Mark she would storm the gates of hell if necessary.
Jo rushed through the outside chores. Staring at the charred black patches where their outbuildings once stood, she could not suppress a shudder. What a grim reminder of what could have happened that night.
They had no money to rebuild, as Luke only sent food and firewood over. Mrs. Osborne smuggled a note in with the food one day, apologizing for not having come over to see them, but Luke had forbidden anyone to have any contact with them at all. Jo understood. They were all too frightened of him to disobey.
He was a tyrant. She hated him. When she nursed her son, and found him to be so like his father, deep down she feared it wasn't hatred she felt at all.
Chapter Twelve
On Saturday, in the early afternoon, Glory sent a carriage for them. With the baby wrapped up warmly, Jo let the middle-aged driver help her into the seat. He stowed a carpetbag with a few necessities in the back, and with a feeling of nervous anticipation she waved goodbye to Fiona and Lucy.
As they drove along, the weak spring sun made a valiant attempt to part the clouds. The orchards were starting to break out into blossom. Perhaps this sign of new life would be an omen things might pick up for them also.
The baby stayed awake for his first carriage ride, contentedly sucking his fingers. The driver spoke very little, but he gave her speculative glances now and again when he thought himself unobserved.
They passed through the almost empty main street of town, and about half a mile further on pulled into the drive of a large house. It was a double storied place, with delicate cast iron lace work on the balcony. An impressive entrance door had a huge fan light with pictorial stained glass side panels. Surely this wasn't where Glory operated from?
In the cobbled backyard, the man helped them down before depositing the bag on the ground.
“Thank you.”
He acknowledged this with a nod, touched his hat, and drove towards a red brick coach house.
Glory hurried over, her large breasts bulging from the low cut bodice of a bright green dress. “You’re here at last! Come to Auntie Glory.” She scooped Mark out of Jo's arms, and left her to carry the bag inside. “I thought,” she spoke over one shoulder, “you might prefer to come in through the back entrance because it's private.”
Inside this section of the house, Jo was surprised to find it tastefully decorated. In the hallway stood a seventeenth century, long case clock with marquetry inlay and a glass 'bull’s eye' at the bottom of the trunk. Entering the sitting room, she noticed several miniatures on the walls.
“How lovely.” She tried to hide her surprise at finding such a tasteful décor.
“Surprised, are you?” Glory might well have been a mind reader.
“It's different than what I expected.”
Glory took her into a large airy room full of cedar furniture. “This is your room.” There was even a carved rocking cradle for the baby.
“You've gone to so much trouble. Thank you.”
Glory put the now sleeping baby, into the cradle, then took Jo back to the sitting room where a middle-aged housekeeper poured their tea into white, gold rimmed, delicate china cups.
“I've had a bath house built recently.” Glory sounded almost childlike in her endeavor to impress. “Come and see it when you've finished your tea.”
On the back lawn, almost concealed behind tall shrubs, was a brick building with arched windows and doorway. The central bath had water pumped through pipes from the river.
“It's the latest thing, Jo.”
Out in the daylight, the thick make up could not conceal the deep wrinkles creasing Glory's face.
“It's all very nice, but maybe a bit pretentious, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
The other woman patted her on the shoulder, laughing uproariously. “Don't quite know about pretentious, but I like it. So do the customers.”
They passed a large pond with pink water lilies floating on top. Jo averted her eyes from the centerpiece of a white marble statue of a naked woman mounted on a rearing horse.
“Whereabouts do, well, the girls, work from?”
“Upstairs. I'll show you around inside now.”
The gaming room had mahogany tables and chairs. Another room, obviously a private bar by the numerous bottles displayed at the back of a circular counter, was upholstered in velvet. Glory did not offer to take her out to the public bar, thank goodness.
In all the rooms, she noticed that the ceilings had white plasterwork and intricately crafted cornices. Basket-shaped chandeliers formed the lighting. Obviously, no expense had been spared to cater for everyone's comfort.
The bar room had a small highly polished dance floor and a large piano set on a raised platform. Frescoes of naked cherubs decorated the ceiling in this room, and one wall was crafted out of beaten copper. Classy, all right, where a local man with money might indulge himself for a few hours, or a wealthy traveler could stay for days.
Glory explained that the girls circulated round the tables, letting the men choose their drinks and a partner if they felt so inclined. She offered to show Jo the rooms upstairs, but she could not bring herself to inspect them.
Jo’s work room was opposite her bedroom, so if Mark cried she would hear him. The job consisted of getting the ledgers into order. No mean feat, as whoever worked here before had been careless.
Stopping only for afternoon tea and to attend Mark’s needs, she worked steadily, trying to unravel the mysterious columns and figures.
In the evening, she met several of the girls. Although branded harlots by the pious ladies of the town, they all seemed friendly, smiling and chatting as if they had known her for years. Surprisingly, two of them were married with children, their husbands either unable or unwilling to find permanent work.